16
August 30th (Monday Night), 1999
"An adventure park?" Nicola asked, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in skepticism. "I think I'm all adventured out, thank you."
"That's just the name." Alys said with an eager smile. "There are exciting rides, food, games, all sorts of fun."
They sat in their nightly group session, all in a circle like normal, but Hermione's stomach was in knots. After the disaster that was her first Occlumency lesson with Draco had ended in tears, she couldn't really concentrate on their upcoming trip to an "adventure park," even if they were going to the states.
She tried to pay attention to all that Alys was saying, but she was still worried she might throw up. She was infuriated at Draco for having caused the situation, but she was also terribly embarrassed to have lost her head the way she did. Literally, all he did was raise his voice, and she had done nothing but cower like a kicked dog. Of course, he wasn't going to hurt her.
She had to bite back a scoff at the idea. Hadn't she shown years ago that she could handle herself, particularly when it came to him? Her reaction to his outburst made her just as angry at herself as she was at him.
He had left, run away even, almost in a full sprint judging by the time it took him to get across the lengthy room, and despite her rational mind telling her how insanely idiotic she was behaving, she collapsed into herself, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity. Even though she was entirely aware that she wasn't in any physical danger from him or anyone else for that matter, her body didn't seem to get the message.
She had wept, openly, with a panic that she hadn't felt since the night Susan had to come and calm her down at Grimmauld. A part of her felt a small bit of saving grace knowing that at least he hadn't seen her fall apart that way, but another much bigger part of her was even more furious at him for just leaving her. The only silver lining was that there was no accidental magical explosion accompanying her meltdown, so the increased dosage of the suppression potion must be working.
She couldn't even look at him now. She knew she must look like a mountain troll, with the inability to right herself with magic and the lack of time before their meeting to get back to her room to try to look more presentable. Thankfully no one had seemed to notice. That in and of itself was just as disconcerting. Did she always look this awful?
Stop it! This isn't helping.
But she couldn't turn off her brain, and the onslaught of self-deprecation continued until she heard her name. Her eyes snapped up to find Alys motioning toward her and then moving on.
"Walt, Hermione, and Dennis will be the 'tour guides' for those of us without much Muggle history, so that you don't bring too much attention to yourself, particularly in regard to money. We'll be giving you all money for food and drinks for the day, but if you'd like your own spending money, Walt is willing to handle all the Muggle monetary conversions for us all."
At that Walt beamed, seeming just as excited as Alys. "I've been looking forward to this trip. You all will get to see a bit of my part of the world for a change. Have any of you been to California, or the states at all for that matter?" When they all shook their heads, he continued.
"We'll be spending the day in Santa Cruz, California on the boardwalk. It's a pretty big tourist attraction, but I think with the time of year and going during the week, it won't be nearly as busy. But there's a beach, a casino, and lots of rides and games, like Alys mentioned. We thought since our last group outing was more of a challenge than a fun excursion, this time we'd give you all a break and a chance to wind down."
All of that actually did sound like fun, and she'd always wanted to travel to the US at some point, though her thoughts had always put her traveling with her actual friends rather than the forced associations she'd made since she got here, particularly considering that a couple of them outright didn't seem to like her at all and the rest merely tolerated her.
However, a day on the beach sounded like a lovely change of pace from the constant emotional roller coaster of being here, and Hermione made a mental note to grab a book from the library before they went.
"Okay, now that that's out of the way," Walt said. "Tonight, I'd like to talk about what happened to you."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and she heard Nicola beside her do the same.
"Before anyone makes a run for the door, let me clarify. I don't mean that I want each of you to tell us all the details of your traumatic history."
A collective breath went around the circle as they all calmed their nerves at the thought of sharing their own memories the way that Luna had.
"What I mean, is that I want each of you to stop thinking in terms of 'what is wrong with you,' and focus instead on 'what happened to you.' Each of you is here because of some traumatic event or multiple events or perhaps a lifetime of events, but when you think of your life in regard to 'what is wrong with you,' you start thinking poorly of yourself, blaming yourself, and even sabotaging your current life because of this critical misperception. But really, even what you'd each consider as the absolute worst parts of yourself, everything you do, everything you say, every behavior that you have in life now is a direct result of 'what happened to you.' Self-sabotage, poor decisions, addiction, unhealthy relationships, feelings of unworthiness, all of these are seen by the outside world as faults, and sure, they aren't exactly admirable qualities, but when these are viewed through the lens of 'what happened to you,' they begin to take on an entirely different meaning, and they can more easily be viewed as behavior that is alterable as opposed to an innate part of who you are."
He took a small dry erase board from the floor beside his chair and drew an upside-down triangle onto it. "A colleague of mine developed this lovely aesthetic for the way the mind works, and I'd like to share it with you all." He drew two lines through the triangle, dividing it into three parts. Pointing toward the largest section at the top, he said, "This is the cortex of your brain. This is the part of your brain that makes you uniquely human. Through your cortex, you're able to speak, think, move, and function. It's where you house your beliefs and values, and it's essentially what makes you who you are."
He pointed to the bottom of the triangle, the smallest section. "This, however, is your brain stem. It is the very basis of human functioning. It's where all your involuntary actions lie – like your heart rate and breathing. In psychology, this area is thought of as the lizard brain or reptilian brain. Though this is the most basic, involuntary part of your brain, input from all your senses comes directly into your brain stem before it goes anywhere else."
He flipped the board upside down, with the point now at the top. "Everything that comes into your brain, what you see, what you hear, what you experience, all of it enters through here and trickles down to the cortex, where you're then able to process it logically. However, and herein lies the dilemma, all sensory input that runs through your brainstem is processed and matched with all your previous experiences, in order to pair it with similar events in your cortex. This may not sound like too much of a problem. Let's say, you inadvertently touch a hot stove. That stimuli in your brainstem gets sent to your cortex labeled 'hot stove, dummy,' and your cortex tells you to pull your hand away. But what if you've been through real hell, as you each have. You've been through a war where a loud noise meant an explosion that resulted in your best friend's death or aggression of any kind meant you were in immediate danger? If that was your past experience for a period of time, now your brain stem will pair that same loud noise or slight aggression with those past similar events and ship them down to your cortex labeled 'danger.' Now, your logical mind may know that there's no danger around, but your brain is reacting from the information the brain stem sent it, so your body is already reacting to that dangerous situation. Your heart rate is elevated, you can't think clearly, your body is already in a state of fight or flight. That's what we have to reprogram here. We have to retrain your brain stem, associating those preconceived 'similar events' with new stimuli in order to highjack and reprogram your brain stem. Does that make sense?"
They were all quiet, taking in all that information. To Hermione, it made perfect sense. In fact, it hit a little too close to home after what just happened with her and Draco. That completely explained why she knew, logically, that he wasn't going to hurt her, but her body still was keyed up to a perceived threat. It made sense, but it didn't make her any less angry or humiliated.
"This leads us the crux of tonight's meeting. CBT. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. That's where we'll reprogram your brains so to speak. CBT is all about training your mind to react differently and learning new pathways to change. The old pathways are still there and can emerge in times of extreme stress, but through work and familiarity, the brain can be taught to respond in these new, healthier ways."
He placed the dry-erase board back onto the floor and leaned forward. "Now for the really scary part. How do we do this? By exposure therapy."
I don't like the sound of that.
Walt continued, seemingly unfazed by the looks of terror on their faces. "Most people avoid situations that cause them extreme stress in order to avoid the trauma response, but research has consistently shown that avoidance only makes symptoms stick around longer and even intensify over time. Avoiding situations, thoughts, or emotions never gives your cortex the opportunity to develop new pathways for change. So, you can never learn that these new situations aren't really threatening at all. Also, you never allow yourself to fully process those previous, traumatic experiences. We do this by actively confronting the things that you fear. Through this, the anxiety and fear will lessen on its own."
He paused and looked around. "Does that sound familiar to anyone?"
"Boggarts," Hermione said, her mouth suddenly going dry.
As her mind wandered to her only two encounters with boggarts, Walt asked if any of them had ever faced a boggart. A few of them nodded, and Walt asked that they go around the room and share that experience.
Seamus spoke up first. "It was in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, third year. Damn thing turned into a banshee and started screaming its fool head off. Professor Lupin taught us the spell to fight it, so I took her voice away." He paused for a moment and added, scratching a spot behind his ear awkwardly, "I imagine my boggart most likely isn't a banshee anymore."
Walt nodded with a sad smile. "Third year, you said? At thirteen, I imagine your worst fears were nothing compared to what you've been through since then."
Seamus said nothing, only stared at the floor, his mouth stretched into a thin frown.
Parvati meekly said, "Mine was a mummy. That same year, the same class in fact." She shuddered. "I agree with Seamus. I'm sure my boggart is something different these days, but mummies still give me the creeps."
A nervous laugh went around the room, and Nicola chuckled the loudest. "Mine was just as silly. Apparently, the curriculum hasn't changed very much over the years, because we were given boggarts in Defense as well, though I can't remember the year. Mine was a shark of all things." They all looked at her incredulously, as she continued to laugh and tried to get the story out. "I befriended a Muggle-born, much to my father's chagrin, and we snuck out to go to see some Muggle picture about this massive shark who eats people. I didn't sleep for a week afterward."
Hermione couldn't hold in her laughter either, having seen the movie in question. "That movie terrified me too. My father let me watch it one night when my mother wasn't home. She berated him for days for it because I was too afraid to sleep in my own bed." Remembering the memory brought a smile to her face. It felt good to remember them without the cloud of despair that typically surrounded her memories of them. She couldn't seem to think of them anymore without always being reminded of having lost them. But this, the memory sneaking up on her the way it did, brought a smile to her face. She remembered her father's silly face when he realized that perhaps his idea for a father/daughter movie night wasn't such a good choice. Of course, at the time, she put on a brave face and pretended to be completely unaffected by the shark ravaging people on screen, but as soon as her bedroom light was off, she was too terrified to close her eyes. She couldn't even take a bath for weeks afterward, and swimming was completely out of the question.
Walt pulled her from her memories by asking, "What about you, Hermione? Have you ever come across a boggart?"
She thought back to the class that Seamus and Parvati mentioned. She had been there as well, but Professor Lupin had stepped in before it was her turn, so she didn't get to face the boggart in class in front of everyone. At that moment, she remembered being bothered by not having a chance to showcase her control over her own fears, but afterward, during her final exam when she finally got the opportunity to face one, she remembered being thankful that there were no witnesses around to have seen how horribly she handled it.
She buried her head in her hands and felt her ears grow hot. "No."
Walt must've misunderstood her hesitation, taking it as something far more serious than it actually was. "It's okay. We can talk about it."
She peeked between her fingers at them, and Walt finally noticed the embarrassed blush that covered her cheeks. "It's far more humiliating than a shark."
Now, everyone seemed even more interested to know, as they all leaned forward in their seats in anticipation.
"Come on, Hermione. We shared ours even though they were stupid," Parvati coaxed, unable to hold back a smile at Hermione's embarrassment.
"Fine," Hermione said, straightening up in her seat. "Mine was during our final exam that year. I had no idea what to expect really, but that thing climbed out of the trunk, and I saw Professor McGonagall looking down at me through those tiny little glasses of hers telling me I had failed everything. I couldn't even get rid of it. Remus - Professor Lupin, I mean – had to come in and rescue me."
Seamus and Parvati immediately collapsed into identical fits of laughter, likely remembering her behavior at school and thinking how fitting it was that her biggest fear would be failing her classes.
She felt a slight twinge of self-consciousness at their laughter, but then she couldn't help but crack up about the absurdity of it herself as well. The rest of the circle joined in, and she finally understood the expression of laughing with someone rather than at them. It was completely ludicrous to look back and think about how terrifying it was to her, the idea of failure, after everything that she'd seen and been through since then. How naive she had been; but truthfully, she wished nothing more than to be able to be that naive once again. The idea saddened her a little, causing her laughter to fall flat.
She looked up to find Walt looking at Draco, and she realized he was the last of them to share their boggart story.
He was clearly uncomfortable, and she thought perhaps his story was more serious than the rest of theirs. She remembered joking with Harry and Ron as they all tried to guess what everyone's boggart form would be. They all had agreed that Draco's was likely Lucius telling him how much of a disappointment he was or disowning him, but the look of discomfort on his face said it was likely something much more revealing than that.
Walt asked him, "You would have encountered one that same year, right, Draco?"
He cleared his throat and nodded. Hermione found herself leaning forward as well and felt disgusted with herself for delighting in anything that would make him ill at ease at that moment. It was unfair that he always seemed so damned cool and unbothered.
He cleared his throat and said, "Yes. I didn't face one in class either. It wasn't until the final exam that I saw one for the first time." One foot tapped awkwardly, and splotches bloomed in his cheeks. "I was able to banish it, but it was awful."
"Go on," Walt urged him.
"I was poor." He spoke the words completely devoid of emotion and didn't look up at anyone.
Before she could stop herself, a giggle poured out of her. It started small but grew like an approaching typhoon, and before she knew it they had all joined in, howling at the idea that Draco Malfoy's biggest fear was destitution.
She looked up, thinking as much as she wanted him to feel badly, she didn't actually want to be the one to hurt him, and was shocked to see him convulsing in an uproarious laugh as well. She'd seen him laugh at other people. She'd seen him smirk or sneer, but this, this full-on belly laugh, this she had never seen before.
For the first time since she met him, he seemed completely unrestrained. The corners of his eyes crinkled, causing them to sparkle in obvious mirth. One hand rested on his chest as he threw his head back and laughed along with the rest of them at the complete and total hilarity of his "fear." As the laughter died down from all of them, Draco leaned forward and placed one hand over his eyes in embarrassment, just as she had done, and gave one last chuckle at his own expense as he wiped his eyes.
She realized then, as she stared at him, that she hadn't been laughing along with them. She sat completely absorbed in watching him look so carefree, something wholly different than his normal detachment or aggravation. It infuriated her just a bit to think that despite how angry she had been at him, seeing him like this endeared him to her in a way that she hadn't thought possible a week ago. When his hand fell away from his face, their eyes met, and she realized then the stupid goofy smile she had on her face as she watched him. She quickly turned away, but she could feel him still looking at her. The damage was already done. There's no way he hadn't noticed.
Walt's voice pulled his eyes away from her. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that given each of your histories, your boggart will likely be quite a bit different now, or at least I hope so in some cases." He looked at Draco good-naturedly and smirked.
"However, as I talked about before with the way your body responds to stimuli, you all have experienced thoughts and behaviors that you feel are beyond your control, accidental magic, anger, hostility, depression, flashbacks. What we want to do here is use exposure to traumatic events, in a safe and healthy way, to show you that with practice and retraining, you do have control over your behaviors and even your thoughts. Over the next few weeks, we're going to be focusing on short exposure events, some in your private sessions and some here in group, in order to help each of you to face your fears so to speak."
All the lightheartedness from the room moments ago was completely gone, leaving behind only an air of tense, uneasiness. "We'll be doing this together, slowly. I want you each to know this type of therapy has been used in the Muggle community for decades, with wonderful results. You are all safe here. This will be difficult, and it's normal to feel overwhelmed and retraumatized for a brief time, but these feelings will pass, giving you the ability to take control of your past and your future."
He dismissed them all for the night, leaving them each with a sense of dread at the idea of being "retraumatized" when the original trauma itself still felt so raw and untreated.
They stood to leave the room, each taking a handout from Walt on their way out the door for exercises they were meant to be doing in their one-on-one sessions starting tomorrow.
Hermione took hers and left the room. She started to go to her room, but then thought that after the night she'd had, a cup of tea before bed may help calm her nerves and prevent the nightmares she knew would likely be waiting for her when she closed her eyes.
She was looking down at the worksheet Walt had given her, trying to make out the wording in the dim light shining in through the windows of the hallway when she rounded the corner into the kitchen and almost walked right into someone standing in the darkness. She screamed, dropping her paperwork in the process, and jumped into the air in terror. Ordinarily she wouldn't have been bothered by just stumbling upon someone unexpectedly like this, but after already being wound up this afternoon and the person standing almost completely hidden in the shadows of the kitchen, she was caught completely off guard.
She fell backward, stumbling over an end table in her attempt to right herself and two hands reached out to grab her. Instinctively, she started fighting her unknown assailant in the darkness of the kitchen. She felt her fist connect with a face just as she heard Draco say, "What the fuck, Granger?"
She fell backward landing roughly onto her butt with an oof as his hands let go of her, presumably to grab his own face. She quickly stood and turned on the lights to find Draco standing in front of her, clutching a bloody nose and glaring at her. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Wrong with me?" She pushed him hard in the chest and yelled, "What the hell is wrong with you, standing in the dark waiting to ambush people?"
"I wasn't ambushing you; I was trying to make a cup of tea without making my headache worse with the fucking lights on. Not that it matters now that my ears are ringing from your bloody right hook!" He walked to the sink and ran water on his hands, washing the blood from them, and took a napkin from the counter to staunch the flow from his nose that had now dwindled to little more than a trickle.
He was annoyingly touching the napkin to his nose, attempting to catch the blood as it ran, and Hermione walked over and snatched it from his hands. "Give me that. And sit down. You're doing it all wrong. You'd think you'd never had a bloody nose before." She pushed him down into the barstool beside the counter, and, much more gently than she had taken the cloth from his hand, she tilted his head back and placed it over his nose. She picked his hand up in hers and laid it over the top of the napkin. "Here, now pinch."
Their eyes met, him now being slightly beneath her eye level, and they continued to glare at one another. She realized she still had her hand over his at the same time he must have as well, because his glare softened into a look of confusion. She dropped her hand hastily and went to the sink to wash it.
"I've had a bloody nose before, but I've never had to fix it without magic," he said, his voice now obnoxiously high and nasally.
She was able to hold in her laughter now, just barely, and she said, "You can stop pinching, but you should leave your head back."
She turned back to face him, wiping her hands on the dish towel hanging from the bar. He pulled the paper towel from his face and looked at her. "Is it broken?"
She couldn't stop her chuckle now. "I barely hit you. No, it isn't broken."
"That's the second time you've punched me in the face, Granger. And now you're laughing at me. You have the whole world fooled into thinking you're this sweet and innocent bleeding heart. You're actually quite mean." He was trying to use the dirty napkin to wipe his nose and succeeded only in smearing it even worse.
She wet a wash rag and walked over to him. "May I?" she asked, not even attempting to hide her smug grin. He dropped both hands in resignation and tilted his head back slightly again. She lightly placed one hand at the nape of his neck and began to clean the blood from his face with her other. She thought then how reminiscent it was of the early hours of yesterday morning when he had done the same for her, gently pulling glass from her palms and rinsing them under the tap.
"Both times you deserved it," she said, refusing to look into his eyes when she was this close to him. She kept hers trained on his nose, where she kept cleaning even though the blood was all gone. She'd never admit this to anyone, but she wasn't quite ready to walk away from him yet. She hadn't touched someone, without flinching, other than hugging Harry and Ginny, in what seemed like forever. It was nice to be able to touch someone, even if it was him and to do it she had to clean his bloody nose.
"I was being chivalrous, trying to keep you from falling. I sure as hell didn't know you were going to start throwing punches or I'd have let you hit the ground instead of my face." She could see his eyes moving, roaming across her face.
"You were the reason I was falling to begin with." She wondered how long he'd sit here and allow her to do this. She hadn't thought about it until right now, but she thought perhaps part of her problem was that nobody needed her to care for them anymore. Harry had Ginny watching over him. He hadn't even told her about going to counseling with Susan almost a year ago or that he needed therapy at all. And Ron was no longer the same slacker he once was. He definitely didn't need her hovering over him anymore. Hermione thought it definitely wasn't a healthy way of living, but she liked feeling that she was still able to take care of someone.
Without realizing he had even moved, she felt him place his hand over her wrist. She shifted her focus an inch higher and met his eyes, seeing how warm they looked and wondering how she could have ever thought they were dark and cruel.
"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't have to elaborate. They both knew he wasn't talking about having scared her in the dark kitchen. Somehow, she knew he didn't even mean how he scared her a few hours ago either. Or at least not just that. He was looking at her now as if he was seeing her for the first time, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thought she'd had so often over the last week, thinking that she had never truly known him at all until coming here. The intensity of that look was enough to let her know he was apologizing for all of it. All the cruel words at her expense, all the taunts and bullying, everything.
It seemed to go beyond that, and Hermione thought maybe she was looking too much into it, but she thought maybe he was apologizing for all his mistakes, not just those that involved her. He was asking for her forgiveness, as if that were enough reparation for his actions against Harry, Dumbledore, all those who were hurt after he allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts, all of it.
She knew he wasn't that person anymore; truly, she didn't think he ever was. She meant what she said at his trial, and she meant it even more now, knowing things about him she hadn't even known then. Hermione didn't have the power to give him penance for those things, but she was going to try regardless.
She smiled softly and dropped her hand from his face. "I forgive you."
She was acutely aware of how hot the room had become when she realized his hand was still around her wrist.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, he let go of her hand, breaking the stillness of the moment, and smirked. "Perhaps, I deserved the punch back then, but did I deserve the 'foul, loathsome little cockroach' comment?"
She threw the rag into the sink and took a step backward to lean against the counter behind her. She folded her arms across her chest and lifted one eyebrow haughtily.
"I suppose I did, didn't I?" he asked, dropping his smirk and looking down at his hands.
She sensed he was pulling away again, falling into the same self-loathing he seemed to find comfort in. "I can't believe you remember that," she said quickly, throwing out a laugh to hopefully pull him out of it.
He looked up at her. "What do you mean? Of course, I remember it. It was the first proper punch I ever took, and it came from you of all people. I doubt I'll ever forget it."
"Of course, you'd remember the punch. It's astonishing that you remember what I called you."
"Don't you remember everything I called you?" he asked, solemnly.
Her mind traveled back to the first time she'd ever been called a Mudblood, and of course it would have been him to say it.
"And nobody asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."
She remembered the way he had sneered at her then, his eyes so full of hatred and disgust, and, glancing toward the rest of his Quidditch team, she saw they all wore similar expressions. Obviously, from the way the Gryffindor team responded, she knew it must've been a pretty foul thing for him to say, but she didn't even realize how bad it was until afterward, when Ron explained it to her and Harry both. Obviously, she already knew that many considered Muggle-borns beneath them, but it wasn't until that exact moment that she truly realized that it ran much deeper than that. They didn't see her as merely beneath them. The way they had all looked at her then, like just the sight of her offended them, was the first indication that a large population of the Wizarding World would always see her as sub-human.
She remembered distinctly the feeling of the air leaving her lungs in a quick gasp at the sight of their expressions. She'd been bullied before, not just at Hogwarts but in her Muggle primary school as well, but nobody had ever before looked at her like she was a bug in desperate need of being squished. And, to Hermione, it was even worse because it had come from him.
I remember because I wanted you of all people to say nice things to me, she thought.
She walked to the opposite counter and filled the tea kettle with water. She put it back on the base and pushed the lever to turn it on. As it started to gurgle, she turned around to face him.
She sighed and thought what the hell? Was she ready to sacrifice her own pride in order to help him? It wasn't entirely altruistic. She couldn't stand him sitting there moping.
"I remember it for much different reasons, I'm sure."
He narrowed his eyes at her questioningly.
She hadn't quite mustered up the nerve yet, so, when the kettle clicked off, she turned and pulled two cups from the shelf behind her. She filled them both, dropping into each a bag of Earl Grey. She sat one down in front of him and handed him the honey.
"I may or may not have fancied you in our first few years of school." She said the words quickly, before she could change her mind. As they slipped out, she questioned what in the world she hoped to gain from this, but she reminded herself that she really couldn't get much lower, right? And he had surprised her quite a bit lately. Perhaps, he wouldn't just fall into a fit of laughter.
The words left her mouth right as he took a sip, and, thankfully, he didn't laugh. He did, however, choke on his tea.
As he sputtered and coughed, she tried her best to appear unfazed. "Well, I suppose if you die of fright it won't be nearly as humiliating as if you died laughing."
"It's a bit surprising," he said, wheezing, bright color spreading across both his cheekbones. "I was awful to you."
"Yes, well, I'm sure that says something truly damning about how horrible my self-esteem was then, doesn't it?"
They sat in silence for a moment, Draco likely in awkwardness and Hermione attempting to hide her mortification. Just as she was about to find some way to excuse herself, he pulled his flask from beneath his jumper and poured a bit into his cup. He offered it to her, saying, "You've succeeded in lifting my spirits, which I know was your motive all along." When she hesitated, he said pointedly, "It's scotch, not Firewhisky."
She took it from him and added some to her own cup. As she handed it back she said, "Good. Because it's annoying enough when you're simply moping. Moping and maudlin is beyond what I can stand."
He scoffed, saying, "As if any Malfoy would be a crying drunk." He stood up and walked out the door. She stood there for a second, wondering if she had angered him with her comment and berating herself for ever saying anything in the first place. She started to leave the kitchen in the opposite direction, heading back to her room.
He stuck his head back through the doorway, and said, with a hint of irritation, "Are you coming?"
Feeling even more like an idiot, she followed him through the dining room and outside. He had a bundle of something beneath one arm that she couldn't quite make out. "It's freezing out here. What are we doing?"
"Let's make a fire, yeah?"
His back was still to her, as she followed him through the terrace, so she thought perhaps she misheard him. A fire?
He stopped right in front of the lake, where there was a large fire pit surrounded by a half dozen wooden Adirondack chairs. She took a seat in one, pulling her thin jumper tighter around her and wishing she had stayed inside.
He sat his cup and what turned out to be two throw blankets on the chair beside hers and knelt down before the wood.
She heard some rustling but couldn't make out what he was doing from the way he was crouched.
All of a sudden, a thin orange light silhouetted him, and he stood. He added a few logs on top of the small burning twigs and took the seat beside her.
"How did you do that?" she asked, taking a large drink of her tea, hoping the warmth from the alcohol would warm her freezing body.
"I'm a man, aren't I? I can make a fire." When she continued staring at him, a look of pure skepticism on her face, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and tossed it to her. "I know how to use a lighter."
She caught it and laughed. "That I can believe." Her teeth started to chatter, and he handed her one of the blankets behind him.
Pretty soon the fire in front of them grew to a comfortable blaze, turning their faces a luminescent orange, with dark shadows masking their features. She leaned back wrapping the blanket tightly around her and feeling the warmth of the fire on her face.
They didn't speak. They sat there, staring into the fire, drinking their booze, and listening to the sound of the embers popping.
Once their tea was gone, they passed the flask back and forth until it was empty too. Soon after, when the fire was only a mass of smoldering coals, he stood and stretched. When he lifted his arms above his head, the bottom hem of his shirt lifted slightly, and she caught a small glimpse of his stomach. She quickly glanced away, feeling her own stomach do a somersault, and she thought how stupid it was that the sight of someone's bare skin was enough to radiate heat throughout her body. It really has been awhile, she thought, giving her head a subtle shake.
She stood as well, swaying slightly, and handed him back his lighter. "Thanks for the whisky," she said as they walked back inside. "I don't know why I didn't think to bring alcohol. Maybe I'll actually be able to sleep now."
He opened the door for her and asked, "Nightmares?"
She nodded, and they continued down the hall to their rooms. Her mind felt slightly foggy as they passed his door, and she looked at him questioningly.
"You're drunk. I'm seeing that you get home properly," he said matter-of-factly.
She snorted in a most unladylike fashion and said, "You can literally see my door from yours. And I'm not drunk. Tipsy? Absolutely. But not drunk."
They made it to her door, and he opened it for her. They stood in the doorway for a moment and she leaned backward, resting against the frame, and looked up at him. She felt the slight fuzziness in her mind clear as she realized how close they were standing again. He looked down at her and lightly brushed one strand of her hair behind her ear. She tilted her head up slightly and thought how easy this felt. With Ron, she couldn't bear for him to touch her, terrified that it would go too far, but here she was hoping that Draco of all people would kiss her. His eyes searched her face again, drifting down to her lips. There's no way she was mistaken that time. The curve of his own looked so inviting, and she could've sworn he moved a fraction of a step closer to her.
Then, all of a sudden, he took a step back, out of the doorway, blinking a few times as if he were trying to clear his head. She watched the walls slam shut behind his eyes, making them appear foreign again.
"Goodnight, Granger," he said, turning on heel and walked quickly back to his room. She hadn't even moved until she heard his door shut and lock. She took a shaky breath and thought, what the hell am I doing? Her heart was racing as she stepped inside and shut her own door. She covered her face with her palm in embarrassment, even though there was no one to see her irritating blush.
Once again, she thought, I am an idiot, and she realized how often she had been thinking that exact thought lately. As she changed into her pajamas, she had already convinced herself that the entire "moment" had been nothing but her imagination and the alcohol.
But, when she turned off her light and crawled into bed, she tossed and turned unable to sleep. She thought with the whisky in her system, she would've fallen asleep in no time, but she felt too antsy. The fog of inebriation returned, following their tension-filled moment in the doorway, and with another feeling of complete idiocy, she realized she felt like she was on fire. A warmth was aching between her thighs that she hadn't felt in years, and she couldn't sleep because of it. Though it was slightly embarrassing to think that the slightest contact with another person and seeing the tiniest bit of his bare skin beneath his jumper did that to her, it was also encouraging. She hadn't been able to feel anything remotely sexual since being caught in the forest by the Snatchers, so as uncomfortable as the pooling heat was, it also made her feel a little bit more like who she used to be. She willed herself to believe that it was only a product of booze and lack of physical contact that did this to her and not at all that it was Draco. It could've been anyone, right? She refused to think of any person in particular as she dipped her hand beneath the seam of her knickers.